Having conquered Los Angeles in a mere four days, it was time for Alex and me to leave the city of Angels in the dust of our rental Kia and move a little further south. Old friends and Comic Con awaited us in San Diego, and there we were taken in by the oldest of friends, Jeff F. Jeff is not merely a longtime McBoner, not merely the brother of McBone's own Poet Laureate, he is, quite simply, my other little brother, and it had been eons at least since we were last together.
Jeff coinhabits his downtown apartment with his lady friend, Bre, whom in prior emails and phone conversations he had affectionately referred to as his 'fiance.' Naturally I was anxious to see what kind of a trollop he had latched on to this time. Given his track record, I knew more or less what to expect of his betrothed. Hairy moles. Oozing sores. Halitosis. I braced myself as we knocked on the apartment door. Upon first beholding the woman to whom Jeff plans to bind himself in everlasting love, I thought, 'seriously?' Here was a woman of surpassing intelligence, beauty and sophistication. I wanted to know what the hell she was doing with this ass clown. Carefully, I coated my question in a veneer of good taste:
What the hell are you doing with this ass clown?
Jeff was quick to remark that I was confusing him with his dad, a point I conceded as I kicked a small dog out of my way and dove uninvited into the refrigerator in search of beer and more beer.
The next several nights were spent in various states of food and alcohol-fueled inebriation, though I do remember some delicious fish tacos and what was, quite frankly, the best freaking meatloaf I've tasted in my life. Bre, if you're reading this, my advice to you is to stop what you're doing right now, quit your job, drive to Indiana and make us some meatloaf, yo.
In all, they were a good, nay a grand four days in Southern California. To read all about our Comic Con adventures, make sure to stop by for the next few posts. For now, we'd like to thank Jeff and Bre for opening their home not only to us, but our friends, Kid Shay and his wife, the mysterious Isis. Indeed the So-Cal hospitality was overwhelming, particularly considering they were already entertaining another aforementioned guest. I won't say who 'Crumpet' (name changed to protect the anonymity of both dog and owner) belongs to; suffice to say the party in question is richer and more famous than you or I will ever be.